I Am Sinking, So I Trick Myself
by acatnamedmouse
Summary: The laughter dies on his lips, and Loki swears he can taste blood. Possible Thor 2 spoilers, you have been warned. Rated T for safety.


Loki does not know the hour that Thor walks in, but to him, it matters not.

Every hour is identical here, in the gleaming prison of glaring light and glaring sin. They pass listlessly, each slower and more suffocating than the last. The dark prince ceased counting long ago. Much the same as he has ceased eating, and Mother has ceased visiting, and as soon, Loki hopes, his weary inhalations will cease as well.

_Prisons were not made for breathing_, he thinks pointlessly, taking in lungfuls of the dead air. Not that it matters.

What does matter, Loki decides, staring down at the stack of books he's cradled in his lap, is that he's running out of stories.

His hands idly graze worn spines as Thor makes his entrance. Slim fingers rustle the yellowing pages, just for fun, tracing dark ink with pale fingertips.

So entranced is he in this pursuit that Thor has been staring at him for several minutes before Loki remembers that he is there.

When he tears his eyes from his readings, he's in for a shock.

His once-brother stands before him in all his golden, shining glory, except that it's wrong. The prince's blue eyes are inflamed and tinged crimson. His proud shoulders are draped in a dark cloak and bowed forward, leaden with a weight that Loki cannot place. Thor's expression is so somber that the first words to escape Loki's mouth are, "Who's died?"

At the utterance, Thor blinds hard, and stumbles backwards as though Loki has dealt him a blow.

Loki's back straightens ever so slightly at the motion. He leans fractionally closer to his visitor, curiosity piqued. So few things of interest ever happen in the dungeons of the mighty. And he has already spoken, it's slightly too late to adopt his usual practice of ignoring the very air his infernal once-brother breathes. His eyes flash, and thin lips curl into an acrimonious smirk.

"Well, brother," Loki smiles like death. "What dreadful occurrence has caused you to inflict your presence upon me today?"

Thor closes his ancient eyes, and doesn't open them for a long moment. His great hands, coiled into fists at his sides, are shaking. The air between them hangs heavy. And Loki waits with bated breath.

"Something terrible has happened," the golden prince finally replies, and his voice is a dreadful sound. His words are as though they have been torn from his throat, raw and bleeding. They linger in the air like a death sentence

Something has changed; Loki can all but taste it. The familiar burn of rage that always accompanied these previous engagements has vanished, as though it had never existed in the first place. Now, a glacial frost seeps into the very marrow of Loki's bones, his body growing rigid with nameless dread. His smirk wavers for one fleeting second, before freezing to his lips, a grotesque mimicry of a smile.

Thor's gaze has locked onto his.

"Do tell." Loki chirps, only his derisive voice is wavering and it sounds more like a plea, and that is wrong. Loki Laufeyson does not plead.

His not-brother's eyes are so blue, and Loki wants to be ill.

"It's Mother," Thor says at last, and his voice is so very numb.

"What of her?" Loki replies coolly, though something very akin to a scream has begun clawing its way up his throat. His heart quickens, beating erratically, becoming a deafening pounding in his ears. "Has the Allfather had her locked up as well?" His mouth twitches into a laughing shape, even as he _knows_, and his chest seems to collapse onto his heart.

Thor looks at him, and breathes, and doesn't say a word. Loki is screaming at him with his eyes, and his pulse is now a steady roar, but the dungeon is quieter than snowfall, and every bit as cold. Until Thor speaks, and ends the world.

"She is dead."

The laughter dies on his lips, and Loki swears he can taste blood.

He can feel his eyes widen, can feel the sting of rising tears, despite his immediate attempts to keep his expression blank. But he knows Thor has seen, his hollow gaze remains latched onto Loki like a leech, and the simple fact alone serves to intensify Loki's grief by tenfold. He feels the corners of his lips tugged downwards; his eyes slide closed, and he inhales a shallow breath through trembling lips. And all at once there is too much to bear.

"What?" he whispers. So soft and so cold.

It is as though Mjolnir has hit him squarely in the chest, as though his ribs have shattered and his heart ripped from his chest and devoured, and it is so, so much worse.

Loki opens his eyes again, and Thor's gaze has not ceased, yet now it is glazed with the all too familiar look of _suffocating_ pity, the once that makes Loki want to tear Thor's eyes from their sockets and crush them underfoot until they are naught but a bloody pulp just because he _can_.

And that won't do, no, that will not do at all.

Within seconds, Loki stiffens, from his raven head down to his toes. Unshed tears glisten, suspended in his eyes, refusing to trickle down his cheeks. His fists clench, an image of grief replaced with rage in the merest of instants. His quivering lips form a hard line, rigid and unforgiving.

And Thor senses it, the change, and tries to stop it before it's too late. "Brother-"

"I'm not your brother," Loki snarls back, and it's over.

Then he smiles, like a wolf. "I'm so sorry for your loss, _Odinson_," Loki sneers, voice like poisoned mead. "It appears you've lost the one sensible member of your golden family. Tragic for you, really. But I see no reason for you to have interrupted my day with your news. In fact, I would greatly appreciate you taking your sniveling elsewhere. Good riddance." Loki scoffs, and drops into a mocking bow, then turns away with a jaunty flourish. But the ice in his voice does not quite reach his eyes, and as he gives Thor his back he raises his emerald gaze to the ceiling and prays for damnation, prays for Thor to lose his temper and strike him down, prays for this all to be _over_.

Loki hears Thor move behind the glass of his cage, hears the familiar biting tone of his not-brother's voice as he begins to speak, and knows he has won.

"How dare you," Thor's voice tremors with barely controlled fury. "How _dare_ you speak of our _Mother_-"

"_Your_ mother," Loki snaps, marveling that his voice refuses to shake. He whirls around to face Thor, green gaze locking once again with blue, and the complete and untainted devastation on his brother's face almost destroys what little composure his fabricated indifference has managed to regain.

"I have no mother," Loki says simply, his eyes never leaving Thor's, even as he can sees all blood drain from his brother's face and he trembles on the verge of collapse and feels the bitter sting of tears that will never fall, and it feels like the end of the world.

**A/N: I haven't written in months, please be kind **** reviews are gold. This may turn into a two-shot, I haven't decided yet. Thank you for reading! **


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